


tally marks

by hunnybby



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Drinking, F/M, Hangover
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-12
Updated: 2020-08-12
Packaged: 2021-03-05 23:07:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,218
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25853353
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hunnybby/pseuds/hunnybby
Summary: yaku can't seem to remember much from last night- but you assure him that he didn't do anything too embarrassing.
Relationships: Yaku Morisuke/Reader
Comments: 2
Kudos: 43





	tally marks

**Author's Note:**

> written for HaikyuuCreations (tumblr) August MPE: 2. International Hangover Day — August 8th is International Hangover Day, just a day after International Beer Day. The day previously was such a blast, though anyone can hardly remember it, but now your characters are suffering the consequences.

**Time: August 7 on Friday, 20:17 PM  
Location: The bar, a few blocks down from the office  
Yaku’s Stats: Shots- 0, Beer- 0**

“Just go inside, Yaku,” you plead, pushing your co-worker towards the door of the bar.

The bouncer eyes you both as you take Yaku’s wallet from his pants pocket, sliding out his ID and placing both yours and his in the palms of the man acting as a barrier between you and a few drinks and some dancing. With a nod, he hands the ID’s back, and moves a bit so that you could squeeze by, a passing “Happy birthday” coming from him. Yaku ignores it, thinking to himself that his birthday is the next day so he shouldn’t have to say thank you.

He hates his birthday. But every year since the year you met him, you’ve insisted on celebrating his birthday. And every year since the year you met him, he’s agreed _(even if it was after hours of you whining that birthday’s only come once a year and you’ll only **be** this age once!)._

But when you make your way towards the counter, and he hears you order two shots of vodka and a pineapple juice chaser for you to share, his eyes widen and he shakes his head abruptly. “Absolutely not,” he tells you, backing up slowly before bumping into a man dancing his butt off. “No shots. We have work tomorrow.”

You don’t look at him, but he sees you raise an eyebrow. “Oh? No work tomorrow?” you question, your tone dancing between curious and mock-disbelief.

His shoulder’s drop, he feels defeated. “Yes.”

You give a polite nod to the bartender and slide Yaku his shot, setting the pineapple chaser in between you two, “Tell me, Yaku, what day of the week is it today?”

The day dawns on him, and he runs his freehand down his features, “Friday.”

You give him a toothy smile, “Friday. Just this one shot, and a few beers and we can get out of here, yeah? It’s a double celebration- International Beer Day and Yaku Morisuke’s birthday!” you suggest, raising your glass to him, waiting for the clink. And when he taps his shot glass to yours, you cheer and the night finally begins.

**Time: August 8 on Saturday, 11:27 AM  
Location: Your living room floor**

Yaku jolts up from the sound of a toilet flushing, and he regrets this action immediately. He has a headache- the annoying kind. The one that he knows he will linger throughout most of the day. He has a funny feeling in his stomach- nausea. His entire body aches.

He’s thankful that the room is still dark, thankful that he decided to buy those blackout shades to keep the daylight out- wait.

He doesn’t have blackout sheets. And if his memories serve him right, he doesn’t remember getting an extra firm mattress.

“Hey, birthday boy,” you drone with a hoarse voice. He can tell that whatever he’s feeling, you’re feeling too. Your footsteps sound slow and methodical- you probably don’t have any contacts or glasses on. “Sorry my floors not too comfortable, but you wouldn’t let me take you to bed,” you say, handing him a glass of water.

He doesn’t have the energy to flush, but your words are embarrassing him. “Don’t say things like that.” He takes the water, and chugs it down immediately. And immediately, he regrets it. His stomach is telling him to drink things slower. “Thanks for letting me crash here.”

You sit on your couch and tuck your legs under you. You look down at Yaku, who has already positioned himself back comfortably on your floor. “Do you remember what happened last night?” you question him, a sly smile gracing your lips. “Or do you want me to tell you?”

Yaku makes a face, and looks up at the ceiling fan. What did he do last night? He doesn’t remember much- the last thing he really remembers is you challenging him, saying that you could match whatever he drinks.

**Time: August 7 on Friday, 20:43 PM  
Location: The bar, a few blocks down from the office  
Yaku’s Stats: Shots- 1, Beers- 2**

“It’s a marathon not a race, idiot,” Yaku scolds you, speech not yet slurred. But that red fanning his face is a dead giveaway that he’s about to have some fun real soon. “Besides, I’m _bigger_ than you. I’d drink you under the table.”

You laugh and can’t help but agree with him, “I guess you’re right. But you aren’t that much bigger than me. I bet I could match you if I tried.”

The strawberry blond (in your head, you’re thinking ‘the cutest strawberry blond’) takes another swig of his beer of choice. “Don’t,” he sets his beer down. “I don’t wanna carry you out of here.”

He misses the way that your eyes travel to his beer. The smile on your face grows a bit wider, “How about we just drink like normal people do then? To you, Yaku!”

**Time: August 8 on Saturday, 11:36 AM  
Location: Your living room floor**

You push your glasses up the bridge of your nose. “You didn’t do anything embarrassing,” you admit, “but I wish you did!” 

Yaku groans, and the small action is still enough to exacerbate the banging he’s feeling on his head. “So, we had a few beers- that’s it right? That doesn’t explain why I can’t remember anything.” 

“ _I_ had a few beers. _You_ had a few more than I did.” You gesture towards Yaku’s arm, and he has to bring his arm up to his face because he can’t bear to move his head right now. 

“It was pretty impressive- the way you just put it all away so fast.” 

****Time: August 7 on Friday, 21:01 PM  
Location: The bar, a few blocks down from the office  
Yaku’s Stats: Shots- 1, Beers- 3** **

You watch Yaku finish his beer, chugging it down and taking his lips away with a satisfying ‘ah!’ 

Your eyes light up, and you take a sharpie out of your purse, “I have an idea.” Before Yaku can ask, you’re grabbing his arm and rolling up his sleeves, “Let’s see how much you can drink.” He feels the tingle of contact when you glide the sharpie on his skin, drawing four tick marks. 

He’s at the stage of tipsy where he doesn’t mind that you’re in his personal bubble. “That’s a stupid idea,” he fights, but he doesn’t pull away. “You’ll forget to mark it. Probably be too busy dancing.” 

“Not if you agree to dance with me,” you wink at him. 

****Time: August 8 on Saturday, 12:52 PM  
Location: Your kitchen** **

“Do you take your coffee with anything? Cream, sugar, or whatever?” you ask, shuffling through your pantry and fridge while the coffee brews. It probably has another minute or two before it’s ready. 

The good thing is, Yaku has finally dragged himself up and to your kitchen. The brightness in your kitchen, however, is not doing him any favors. If anything, it makes the banging in his head louder, harder. He thinks that maybe sugar will make him feel sicker. “I’ll take it black.” 

“Suit yourself, then.” You sneak some sugar and milk into your coffee cup before pouring the coffee in. 

You settle the coffee in front of him, and he gladly takes it. The smell alone helps the drums diminuendo slightly. “That doesn’t sound bad, but I still can’t remember. Are these tally marks even accurate?” 

You roll your eyes. “I may not work in the finance department, but I know how to count.” 

****Time: August 7 on Friday, 22:14 PM  
Location: The bar, a few blocks down from the office – the dance floor  
Yaku’s Stats: Shots- 1, Beers- 5** **

“Stop being so stiff!” you cackle, hunching over slightly to hold your sides. Everyone knows Yaku isn’t the best dancer, but you’ve never seen it in real time. “It looks like you’re doing the robot.” 

You think he’s still okay but the droopiness of his eyelids and the slur in his speech tells you otherwise. “I don’t dance, Y/N,” he says again for what feels like the 30th time tonight. 

He puts his hands on your hips in an attempt to steady you. “Let’s go sit back down, I feel goofy,” he replies into your ear. If it weren’t for the loud music and the way he breath smells like beer, you would have swoon. But your skin still feels hot under his touch. The bodies around you aren’t helping, either. 

You think you want to run your hands through his hair, but instead your hands find his tie and you loosen it up for him. You hesitate for a split second before deciding to also unbutton the first button of his shirt. Your hands hover over the second button, but you push that option from your mind. He needs to relax, but you don’t think he’d be comfortable with an undone shirt. 

“Just hang onto me,” you instruct next, bringing his hands slightly higher so they rest right above your hips. “And move!” 

****Time: August 8 on Saturday, 12:57 PM  
Location: Your kitchen** **

Of course, you leave out the part where his hands are on you. You can tell him that later, when he isn’t feeling like dying. But you make a theatrical reenactment to show his moves. 

His eyes mimic saucers. “You got me to the dance floor?” He leans back on the chair, and uses one hand to cover his eyes. “ _Why? How?_ ” 

You shrug, hiding your coy smile behind your cup as you take another sip of coffee. “You seemed to enjoy it though.” 

He’s shaking his head. “I rarely enjoy dancing.” He leans forward again, taking another gulp of coffee. 

The caffeine seems to be helping, and he’s learned his lesson from the water that he shouldn’t be inhaling his drinks. It won’t do him any good. But, he feels less nauseous the more he drinks, and he’s grateful that he’s in your apartment and not in his. He knows he would have spent a little longer laying around moping. 

You really just danced,” you tap on your chin, thinking about the night and his actions, “and you were having a good time!” As an afterthought, you add, “We should’ve invited our coworkers.” 

****Time: August 7 on Friday, 22:30 PM  
Location: The bar, a few blocks down from the office – the dance floor  
Yaku’s Stats: Shots- 1, Beers- 5.5** **

Yakus’ tie is completely gone now, lost in the depths of your purse. The grip around your upper waist tightens just a bit, bringing you closer to him. You look up at him expectantly. And you think that maybe you’re too easy to read when you’ve also had a few drinks, because even inebriated Yaku can tell you’re thinking about something. 

He looks around briefly, then settles his eyes on you once again. “People keep bumping into us. It’s better if we stay close,” and the Cheshire-like smile you sported when you took your first shot is now making an appearance on Yaku’s lips. “Is this okay?” 

You nod dumbly, swallowing hard and clinging onto him even harder. The atmosphere takes another shift when you find yourself laughing again as he swings you both around in a clumsy stilled-tango, “Why’re you still so awkward?! Move your feet!” 

He lets go of you then, then starts exaggerating his movements. “Like this?” He’s flailing his arms and flapping his feet. He whacks a guy behind him, but he’s probably as lost as Yaku and doesn’t react negatively in the slightest. 

You grab his hands, holding them to his sides and dragging him away from the dance floor, “That was perfect! I have another idea now.” 

He lets himself be led by you, freeing himself from your grasp to down the rest of his beer. 

****Time: August 8 on Saturday, 13:16 PM  
Location: Your kitchen** **

“You kinda looked like a chicken,” you point out, grabbing the empty cups and setting them in your sink, running the water to begin washing them right away. “It was cute.” Then, after a second to think about it, “It was like watching a toddler learn how to move their limbs for the first time.” 

He pouts. This does nothing to help his case. Then, looks at his arm again. “So why does my arm have 8 marks?” 

You rinse the dish soap off the last cup you are washing and roll your eyes in what you think is a playful manner. “Because we took one more shot. Duh.” 

He raises an eyebrow, trying so hard to remember last night. “We did?” 

The sound of dishes clicking together on the drying rack fill the air as you place them carefully next to each other. You grab the nearest kitchen towel to wipe down at your counter and your sink. “But just one more.” 

****Time: August 7 on Friday, 22:30 PM  
Location: The bar, a few blocks down from the office – the dance floor  
Yaku’s Stats: Shots- 1, Beers- 6** **

“Two birthday shots!” you shout out to the bartender, waving your arms to grab their attention. Yaku stands behind you, waving his arms in sync with you. His other hand somehow finds its way to your waist again, but you don’t mind. Your mind drifts to the thought of having his hand there forever, and you smile harder. 

“Last one?” you ask, bringing your shot glass up to him as an offering. 

“Last one,” he replies, bringing his glass up to yours before downing the shot in one go. It’s sweet, but Yaku still makes a face from the taste. “Remind me to never take that shot ever again,” he says, placing the glass on the table and leaving his hand there for support. “It’s too sweet.” 

“You’re sweet,” you say as a way to insult him. 

And when you’re stumbling out of the bar at 23:00 PM (too early, you think. But it’s been awhile since you’ve even been out), you have Yaku clinging to your arm as you squint your eyes to look out for your Lyft drive. 

“You’re sweet, too, I guess,” he mumbles, more to the ground than to you. And it takes you a moment to realize that he was responding to your earlier comment. 

The cool breeze of the night helped with the warmth you felt on your skin, but it’s all been for naught with his comment. Now, you feel the heat come back. 

A quick glance at your phone shows you that your driver is 2 minutes away. This gives you enough time to position Yaku straight (or as straight as he could possibly stand). “You don’t know what you’re saying right now, Yaku,” you grin at him. He still isn’t looking at you. 

“You’re very pretty. Sometimes I go to the payroll office to see you. I know you hide by the printers there,” he admits. 

You bite your lip. “That’s sweet, but please don’t tell anyone where I hide. 

“And I really…” he trails off, the sentence mixing with the breeze you feel. 

This piques your interest, so you turn to him. And he’s finally looking at you again. “ _Really_ …” he continues. 

But your Lyft arrives. 

And Yaku upchucks on the ground. 

Luckily, it doesn’t get on you. And luckily it doesn’t get in the Lyft either. It’s better he lets it out now. You wouldn’t want to ask him for $300 on his birthday. 

****Time: August 8 on Saturday, 13:24 PM  
Location: Your living room couch** **

Of course, you leave out where he compliments you before he blows chunks. That is also something you can tell him later on. But you don’t leave off the chunks part. 

He’s groaning next to you, his left knee slightly brushing your right knee as you both sit cross-legged on the couch. “I threw up? _In front of you?_ ” He looks at his arm again, “I didn’t even have that much to drink.” 

“You drank it so fast- guess you were sprinting, rather than marathon-ing,” you chuckle, repositioning and bringing your knees close to your chest. “But, you got it on the ground! I think I would’ve killed you if you threw up in the Lyft.” 

And you both sit in silence for a bit, basking in it. Yaku especially, since his headache is finally going away completely. Something about your apartment is helping him through this hangover. He thinks that maybe it’s because of your blinds. He really needs to get some. Maybe he’ll ask you where you got yours later. 

“So, what do you wanna do for your birthday?” you ask. Somewhere in the quiet, you’ve shifted your body, resting your back on the armrest of your couch with your feet at his thigh, pushing slightly to catch his attention. “We can get some brunch? Mimosas?” you joke, lips curling upwards when Yaku makes a disgusted face. 

He can’t even think of alcohol right now. He might drink too fast again. “Absolutely not. We celebrated last night, didn’t we?” 

“Stay then,” you offer sheepishly, “I’ll order food and we can watch a movie.” 

******Time: August 7 on Friday, 22:42 PM  
** **Location: The Lyft, on your way to your apartment  
Yaku’s Stats: Shots- 1, Beers- 6**

Yaku fights, not wanting to crash at anyone else’s place. “I wanna go home. I want my bed,” he slurs, clinging to the passenger door and clicking the window button up and down. He doesn’t know if he wants cool, fresh air or warm, car air. Maybe he should ask you to ask the driver to turn on the AC. 

“You can go home tomorrow. Crash at my place,” you tell him again for the 3rd time. “I live closer anyway. You don’t want to do a sleepover with me?” 

He snorts, “Are we in middle school?” 

You look out your window to keep yourself from smiling to hard at him. You don’t think you’ve ever seen him this drunk; you also don’t think you’ve ever seen him drink so fast. 

“It’ll be fun,” the car stops in front of your apartment building, “come on. You can take my bed.” You tug at Yaku’s arm and let him sling it over you. 

“Will you be there, too?” 

As appealing as that sounds, you shake your head. “I can take the couch.” 

He visibly pouts, jutting his lips out to exaggerate his disappointment. 

It’s a struggle to get the key into the door, but when you finally do, Yaku makes his way straight to your couch. He doesn’t land perfectly, because you see him slowly roll off to the ground. You have to stifle a laugh when he starts snoring immediately. 

You stare at him a bit, deciding if you should wake him up, drag his limp body to the comfort of your bed, or just leave him there on your floor. Ultimately, it’s better to not touch someone who’s knocked out within seconds. 

You open your mouth to say something, but shut it after. There’s no way he’d be able to hear you saying thank you. You’ll wait until the morning to bother him again. 


End file.
